The Art of Espionage
by Magnolias
Summary: AU, Yaoi. When Colonel Roy Mustang offered to help a suspicious, injured blond, he never expected to be thrust into said blond's life as a spy, politically or personally. M in later chapters.


**A/N: Well, err. This is the first fanfiction I have ever written, and I'm hoping that it gets some positive results – I have been writing for quite a while, but I'm not too sure of its quality. So I am here, in the world that is fanfiction, to hopefully improve my writing and bring some entertainment to those who read it.**

**So… enjoy! And please, don't be afraid to tell me what you like/dislike/hate, any critique or commentary you have for me will be extremely valuable.**

Chapter One

As rain began to pour down in torrents, Roy Mustang let out a swear. He hated the rain, as most people knew, and it figured that the one day he decided to walk home from a long day at work instead of getting Havoc to drive him home was the one day the sky opened up to downpour.

Breaking into a sprint, the Colonel made an attempt to cover his head (which was stupid, because using his arms to cover it wet his gloves, which, to his dismay, _did_ make him useless) and ran along the sidewalk, at least grateful for the fact that other people were sane and stayed inside, out of the rain. That way, at least, nobody would see him as he bolted down the street.

In most cases, Roy prided himself in being an Amestrian soldier – he knew battle tactics and manipulation more than most could boast about, had the war experience to kill or disarm when needed, and certainly had more keen senses than a normal civilian. So, when he heard a noise coming from a nearby alleyway that didn't sound anything like the rain splashing against the ground or the stomping of his feet as he ran, Roy's instincts were instantly on guard.

Who knew what could be making the noises? Possibilities ran through Roy's head, from an assassin waiting to strike to a raccoon knocking over a trash can in search of food. And really, to a soldier's point of view, anything was a potential danger.

Cursing his wet pyrotech gloves (and hoping that Hawkeye would never, ever know about this), Roy slowed to a stop just before the alley, pressing his back against the wall that framed the entrance to the alleyway. He dipped his head inside, quickly scanning the passage.

It was dark, which was to be expected considering the heavy rain clouds overhead, but there was a glint of metal and the sound of harsh panting; Roy stiffened. There was definitely something alive – and from the sound of it, injured – near the back of the alley, and if it was human, the metal hinted at some sort of weapon.

Weighing his options, Roy took a hesitant step into the mouth of the alleyway, wary of the noises still emanating from the back corner. He knew it was probably one of the most unwise things he could do, walking straight into danger, but what if the person in the alley was a poor, injured woman? Curiosity got the better of him as he called out, "Hello? Anyone there?"

Whoever was panting inhaled sharply in a gasp, and Roy heard something shifting. "I'm not going to hurt you," he murmured, stepping further into the alley. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," a rough, male voice responded in a hiss. "Now get the hell away from me."

Whatever Roy had been expecting, it certainly was not that. He raised an eyebrow in the darkness, disobeying the request. "If you're hurt, I can help," he offered.

"I don't need your fucking 'help,' bastard, why are you even still here?" was the indignant response, punctuated by blatant gasps of pain.

"Because you are obviously a liar. If I step any closer, are you going to harm me with any weapon you may or may not have?" Roy quipped, risking another step.

There was silence for a moment, as though he was considering it, before the injured male responded, "No. If you're actually going to help me, get over here."

Roy complied as he eased closer to the man, kneeling down and resting on the heels of his feet when he was close enough. "Where are you hurt?"

"Abdomen," he bit out as a hand shot out and clamped onto Roy's shoulder. "Just… help me up or something."

Wrapping a hesitant arm around him, Roy helped the man up and together they edged towards the mouth of the alleyway. Once they were out, Roy could see that the injured person he was tending to was too young to even be a man – he looked like a teenager, and… "You're rather short," Roy commented, eying what he could of teen's height and long, tangled hair through the downpour.

The teen responded with an angry growl, tightening his arm (which consequently tightened around Roy's abdomen, as it was currently the teen's pillar of support). "_Who_ are you calling short?"

Opting to disregard the teen's obvious insecurity about his height but mentally filing the observation, Roy shifted his weight to better suit the injured adolescent. "If you'll just lean on me, I can support you and we can make it back to my home." The injured youth nodded, and they started their trek.

The walk to Roy's house was silent save for the teen's labored gasps and the constant pitter-patter of rain on the pavement. Once they were both safely inside (and out of the rain), Roy shrugged off his sopping military jacket, telling the teen that he would be right back with towels to dry them both – in reality, it was a very plausible reason to leave the room, but the excuse didn't work in Roy's head. In_ reality,_ Roy was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check. Now that he could see the teen in a well-lit area, it was completely different than in a darkened alley – he was _attractive._ Long (if not tangled) blond hair, sharp, angular features that complemented his shocking, golden eyes perfectly…

When he returned (appalling emotions such as lust hidden deep under a mask), the youth was outstretched on his living room sofa, glaring at him through those narrowed, golden eyes. Roy suppressed an odd shiver at the intensity of the stare, dropped a dry towel on top of the teen's head, and took a seat on a chair opposite the sofa. "So," he started. "Are your injuries bad enough that they need immediate attention, or can I ask you some questions?" Roy's eye sharpened on the adolescent's abdomen, looking to find any bloodstains on his clothing – _Great,_ he thought. _Of course he's dressed in black from head to toe..._

Said adolescent continued watching the Colonel. "You can ask whatever the hell you want, it's not like I care. Can't say you'll get a decent answer, though."

"Who are you?" Easy question, come on you can answer this at least, I saved your life –

"Not of importance. Next?"

"Who injured you and why?" Roy asked, not dwelling on the lack of a decent answer for the previous question as he tried to at least pry _some_ information to work off of.

"Had a run-in with someone," he responded, waving a gloved hand to dismiss the question as if it was nothing to worry about. "You shoulda seen what the other guy looked like when I was done, though," the teen added as an afterthought, a grin breaking out on his face.

"And just what did you do to him, exactly?"

The blond's hands made a motion to clap – causing Roy's brow to furrow – before he noticed, explaining quickly, "Oh, uh… Alchemy? I don't think it matters if you know that."

Oh, the boy was an alchemist? "That does not answer my question, though."

Scowling, he replied, "Do the math yourself, bastard. Obviously I used alchemy to kick his ass. The ends are the same, why should the means matter?"

Because you got injured, Roy wanted to say, but held it inside because, _really,_ he didn't even know the teenager, why should he act paternal? For all he knew, the kid was a mass-murderer who could strike out and slit his throat at any given moment. "Is there a name I could call you? I would prefer at least _some _response."

"Fullmetal," the teen mumbled. "Just call me Fullmetal."

Roy almost asked _why, why_ such a heavy name was given to such a young kid, but he figured he was pushing it. He got up from his chair, staring down at the adolescent as he said, "Alright, Fullmetal. I'm going to assume you won't kill me in my sleep, because I took you in based on my kind, generous heart, and I have had an extremely tiring day. I am going to sleep – there is a first aid kit in my bathroom, which is the room down the hall and to your left. Feel free to use my shower, take some food, whatever, but do not bother me."

Finishing his speech, Roy nodded to the teen – Fullmetal – and left the room to go into his own. Once in bed, of course, he didn't actually fall asleep until around an hour later, when he heard the blond rummaging around in his bathroom as at least _some_ soldier's common sense warned him about sleeping and leaving himself so vulnerable.

But when he woke up the next morning, the blond was gone.


End file.
